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Monday, March 2, 2015

The Horror

Poor Mac felt so wronged last night. The kid, as you may know, plays the violin like a dream. Some of the time he likes playing the violin. The rest of the time, I make him play it. Making him practice is a hard job, and I have to do a puzzle, with it's calming properties, while I do the forcing.

Anyway, last night there were lots of tears and "I hate violins," during the practice negotiation. Right away, I backed off on my 10-piece quota because I could tell it was going to be an epic battle. "Five pieces," I said.

"Four," he said.

"No," I said.

And the sobbing.

Finally, he played the five, I read a story, put him to bed. He knocked on my door thirty minutes later, weeping. "It's not fair," he said. "Why do I have to play an instrument and Shef doesn't?"

"That doesn't seem fair, does it," I said, walking him back to his room. In fact, I've often felt this was my mistake. I failed to make my oldest child's life suitably miserable. If I had inflicted the pain of music, I could more easily coerce the younger. Since I don't have a reason why Mac has to do it while Shef doesn't, I just rubbed Mac's back and validated his feelings. "I can hear that you really feel like it's not fair."

He sniffled and nodded.

"Can I tell you a secret, though? Shef is not that good at playing music. You're much, much better."